Fear within the Battlefield
by QuillOwl
Summary: It was the only time Pitch was possible to rise, for fear was everywhere; within the hearts of alone children, the souls widowed women and, of course, the lives of solders within the battlefield and trenches. *A one-shot now turned into a story*
1. Fear within the battlefield

**Summary: It was the only time Pitch was possible to rise for fear was everywhere; within the heart of the alone children, of the souls widowed women and, of course, the lives of solders within the battlefield.  
-ONE SHOT- (Potential few shot)**

**A/N:  
This is just an excuse to practice for a short, creative story I must write in English.**

**Our story in English is about the battlefields and the trenches of the First World War and since, being the fangirl I am, I decided to practice it online yet twist it around into a fanfiction one shot. (Maybe a few shot)**

**So, enjoy!**

* * *

They hurt.

Hurt beyond their throbbing chests and exhausted arms, agony beyond their tired bodies. For, the feeling of guilt and sin has finally made there ways towards their aching hearts. The dread and horror of having to kill, murder a _human being, _end the life of _someone like them_.

But, this is war and the soldiers have suffered the feeling enough to become immune to the burning, agonizing emotion of guilt and fear.

Even though, the thoughts of fear and terror still remained. Even as they shot, hid and defended, they still had that feeling of disaster and paranoia.

War does that to a person, makes them fear for their small, inferior lives.

The soldiers marched on, through the towering mud and wood of the trenches towards the reserve.

They couldn't wait, it was like the small, flickering light within the dark, hellish pit they have been stuck in for 3 years. It was a time that they could attempt to sleep, try to rest during the booming sounds of war and death.

Sleep was a rarity, for the terrible sounds above the bunkers and across the battlefield of No Man's Land prevented the enclosing feeling of blissful rest; the haunting nightmares that plagued their minds yanked them away from the darkness and emptiness of sleep they could have retrieved.

The nightmares were horrifying, they showed no mercy to what they made the such fragile men watch or what the men was scarred to hear.

It was like the Nightmares were more superior, towering over the opponents of the war and stare down at them with their golden, corrupt eyes of fear and death.

For, no matter what side, fear was in everyone's hearts.

Fear of death, abandonment, pain. So many fears that darkness could just _feast_ upon.

Yet, the soldiers tried to drown the fear, overwhelm the crushing darkness within their souls with happy thoughts and encouraging reminders of what was for them once they won the war and went home.

However, many of them never returned home. They never experienced their encouraging thoughts or remember their happy memories for another time. For, even though the darkness likes feeding on the fear, it also feeds on the defeated souls of the lifeless and dying men of the battlefield.

Many didn't see it, only one did.

He was 17, barely reaching the grasps of adulthood.

He signed up for the war when he was 15, standing right in front of the officers as he handed his sheet and they didn't even batter an eyelid at him. They just stamped the paper, and waited for him to be sent towards his death.

Even though, they didn't know that. Nobody knew the terrible things that happened on the battlefield except the fighters within its land, its land of fear and death that the public were so _blind_ of.

He marched forwards, stepping through the sinking mud and intoxicating smell of smoke and rotten flesh that made everybody want to gag.

He gagged, oh, he did. He coughed and vomited many times during his few months at the battlefield. The things he saw, the things he had experienced.

He hasn't killed a man; he doesn't plan to.

Sure, the Germans would have wanted to kill him but he wasn't that cruel. Nobody should be that cruel except death himself. Death should be the only one that can murder, the only one to take a life.

Yet, the war proved otherwise for everybody could kill. They can shot and bomb and murder other human beings around them.

It disgusted him, but he didn't speak his feelings. If he retreated, spoke a word of concern, be a coward, he would be shot in the head.

He didn't want to be killed by an ally. He just wanted to get to the reserve and hopefully get out of this war alive.

The men around him didn't even give him a glare as he fell over a dead body, the body of a youth lad around his age. He stared at it, scared and wide-eyed, at the dead body with its glazed eyes and frozen expression of pain and fear.

_'Death shows no mercy, you must carry on before death takes you too.'_

He staggered back up, rushing back towards the crowd of his fellow allies and comrades. They laughed and talked through the journey of surrounding bodies and mud, trying to have the hint of a true laugh during a time like this.

They were trying to laugh, to have fun, to believe they were going to get out of this alive.

He believes he would. He believed a lot of things, in fact.

Many things that his age shouldn't imagine anymore. Believes things that should have faded away during such a cruel, dreadful time like this. Yet, he still believed; yet never told anybody.

For, he was one of the few teenagers in the army. The rest was to old to believe, to old to understand but can only _mock_ and laugh at him.

He believed in myths, legends, folktales he had been told as a childish lad. He got told by his mother, which he told to his sister, who then told them to her friends. He enjoyed the feeling of helping his sister tell the stories of wonder and joy towards young children, bringing the belief towards small hearts that were warmed by each word.

He bowed his head, pulling out a locket within his pocket. He flipped it open to see the bright, smiling photo of his little sister, her brown hair in pig tales and her teeth held a gap were a tooth once been.

A tooth that the Tooth Fairy had now taken.

He believe in the Tooth Fairy, stayed up all night during his childhood to catch the glimpse of the small sprite stealing away his tooth. He hunted during the warm Easter, tracking down the fluffy myth that was the Easter Bunny. He laid awake during Christmas, in hopes of a man climbing into his home with presents within his hands. He waited within the dead of night to see the golden, twirling trails of dreamsand created by the Sandman.

He believe in them, and many other myths that someone his age shouldn't believe.

Yet, he did. And the moment he leaves the frontline and goes back towards England, he was going to his sister and tell her every story until they learnt the tales it word by word.

He glimpsed at his sisters loving smile one last time, before shutting the locket and returning it towards the pocket of his jacket.

He continued marching, walked beside his equals as he stared at the night sky and its glimmering full moon. Even though he was in a place of war and death, he couldn't help but be memorized by the beauty the moon radiated.

His hypnotic stare at the Moon was his fatal mistake.

He heard the clanking of a canister against the wooden supports of the trench, staring down at the sizzling canister that rolled beside their feet.

"_Gas_!" A soldier cried, causing the fumbling movement of men towards their sides. They tore their gas masks away from their belt, placing them on with ease.

He was about to put his on, when he saw it.

A man, not a person he even knew the first name of, didn't have his gas mask on him. His hands frantically moved round his belt in panic, in fear.

He sprinted towards the man, instantly putting the gas mask he held around his face.

The canister sizzled until the gas exploded out of it, the yellow substance overwhelming them.

That was when he noticed.

He didn't have a mask on.

He gave it towards the struggling man without a mask, he gave his only mask to him.

He yelled out for help, for an extra mask, but inhaled the thick, intoxicating air around him.

His lungs burned as he collapsed on to the ground, flipping and jerking about across the mud as his allies cried out in shock. He gurgled, choked as blood filled his mouth and escaped through his trembling lips. His eyes darted about as froth escaped his lungs, his body being drowned by the vile gas.

His allies, his friends in terms, cried out and screamed for him. They wails faded away, turning into distant echoes as everything suddenly stopped.

He couldn't move, or breathe or feel the horrid feeling of froth and blood pour past his tongue.

He saw nothing except the towering walls of mud and the blurring sky. The moon shone down on him, glimmering across him as he laid there.

A chuckle was heard through his silent ears, a figure of shadows entering his vision.

The golden, amber eyes of a man looked down at him. His grey skin and black hair making him seem deadly and evil. He chuckled at the him, at the dying boy by his feet.

_"Oh, the disappointment."_ His dark voice spoke, _"The fear and realization that you're never gonna go home, never tell another one of your stories, never see the smiling face of your sister."_

He could only stare, stare at the man that stood beside him.

_"You're fear delights me. The fear of every soldier within this battlefield, their hearts tainted with crushing darkness, makes me feel so powerful."_

He didn't know how he could, since he was as lifeless as death, but he rasped through his dry mouth.

"A-Are you death?"

_"No, even worse."_ The man replied, giving a cruel grin at the boy, _"I'm Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. The person that feeds on the fear of the dead and dying within this battlefield."_

He remembered that tale. The stories of the Boogeyman that haunted scared children under their beds, filling the heart of the brave with the worst of fears.

_"Do you know my story, child?" _The Nightmare king asked him.

"Y-Yes."

_ "Of course you do. Aren't you a bit old to believe in such things, lad?" _Pitch replied,yet didn't let him answer the question,_ "Tell me, boy. Do you know the old lie?"_

"N-No. W-What Lie?"

_"The old lie. The lie soldiers are told as the truth. The lie that gives the belief that soldiers can defeat death."_ Darkness started to overwhelm his vision as the Boogeyman talked.

The last things he saw was the moon, and the bright, golden eyes of the Boogeyman as he spoke,  
_"The old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori."_

_It is sweet and glorious to die for your country._

* * *

**Rest in Peace to those that fought in the First World War. Although your times have been forgotten, you're still remembered within our hearts.**

**This story _might_ be turned into a few shot. Depends on how much feedback I get.**

_**Rate and Review! **_


	2. Arise, John Smith

**Thank you for the such lovely reviews!  
Your reviews made me decide to continue this story, continue beyond this one-shot.**

**...**

**_The Blue Phantom_****: I LOVE YA BUDDY! *Hands Sandman plushie and box of cookies***

**_yujuh7_****: I should be the one to thank ****_you, _****for being so nice enough to not only review but also ****_favorite_**** this story. I give you, as a thank you, this chapter as my gift. :)**

**_Bookworm210_****: Oops. Sorry, I make people cry a lot. Here, have some cyber-hot chocolate *Passes mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows* Are you feeling better? **

**...**

* * *

_"Arise."_

The voice was so calm, so powerful that it somehow commanded him to open his heavy eyelids. He was overwhelmed by blinding, silver light as he awoke, confused by the brightness that drowned away the darkness that once crushed him.

This wasn't right. He was dying, he was _dead_.

But, he wasn't.

He felt himself being lifted, pulled away from the sinking mud into the intensifying light that bathed across his bloodied body and face.

_"Arise." _The voice repeated as he floated in the air, hovering above the trenches and battlefield into the midnight, blackened sky that the moon rested.

He blinked at the moon, staring at it and it's shining, overwhelming light.

He was confused, dazed and _scared_. He was alone, not knowing where he was or even _who_ he was.

The only thing he remembers is that he had a sister, and that he died before he could see her again.

His lack of memory terrified him, fear tightly embracing him and making it hard to breathe.

But, then he continued looking at the moon and...didn't feel so scared anymore. Like the moon has stripped away any fears he once had and replaced it with some sort of peaceful calm.

The wind that breezed past him brushed against his cheeks and ruffled his hair as he remained floating within the air, staring at the moon in a hypnotic daze as he struggled for words.

"What-...Where-...Who are you?" He spoke, his throat raw choked on every syllable even though he didn't know why.

_"I am the Man in the Moon, and you're Johnathan Andrew Smith."_

_John Smith. _

That was his name. He liked that name, it seemed to fit him perfectly.

"What-...What happened?"

_"You died by sacrificing your life, dying by a terrible fate you shouldn't have deserved. This sacrifice is what made me bring you back."_

"So...I'm not dead?"

_"No."_

John felt himself descending, lowering on to the ground until the mud squished underneath his boots.

"Then, does that mean I'm alive?" He asked, facing the moon as its light dimmed into a gentle glow.

He stood there for a moment, waiting for a reply.

No reply came.

"But...what do I do, now?" He asked again, and once again getting ignored.

"What do I do!" He shouted this time, screaming at the moon with frustration.

But, For another time, no reply came. No reply came from the moon as he screamed at it

No reply came.

John huffed in irritation, thrusting his hands up in defeat as he began to tread away through the pilings of mud.

He heard gunfire as he walked, seeing people rushing around with guns and weapons.

What's going on? Is there some sort of war going on?

John didn't know.

Besides, he knew he hated wars. So, why would he be somewhere like here?

* * *

John marched across the cobbles, feelings the stone from the ground press against the soles of his feet.

He surveyed his surroundings, seeing the small stone buildings and house of the small town he was marching through.

He didn't know why he was marching, why didn't he just walk through the town?

Even though, nobody was looking at him as he passed. They didn't even batter an eyelid at him as he trod across the ground and looked at the buildings in wonder.

A flag, with vertical stripes of blue, white and red, thrashed about in the rushing wind.

France, he was in France.

Wait, how does he know that? He has never seen that flag before in his life! He doesn't even know what France is, so how can he know?!

These confusing questions and incredible deja vu made John's head spin, causing him to halt within the street.

A person walked past him, not even taking care to ask if he was okay or even _look_ at him. John found that slightly rude, and didn't even bother telling the person they dropped a green jacket as they left.

In fact, he picked the green jacket up. He liked the jacket, he liked the amount of pockets it had and the dark green shade, so he slung it over his arm to keep it.

Besides, his clothes seemed tattered and he'll need new ones, anyway.

He marched onwards, traveling further into the small town without any body taking notice of him.

This irritated him, he seemed pretty out-of-the-ordinary here and nobody noticed. Why wasn't anybody talking to him? Or even _looking_ at him?

He couldn't take it anymore, he needed somebody to notice him.

John walked towards a little girl, who was playing with a piece of chalk on the cobbled ground.

"Excuse me." He muttered, his voice quiet and even _shy_, "Could you tell me where I am?"

The girl looked up and John's heart leaped, as he was finally noticed. Until, the girl completely looked past him and gasped.

"Mummy! Mummy! Look! It's the soldiers!" The girl exclaimed as she jumped on to her feet and sprinted straight ahead.

Then she went through John.

Literally. She walked straight through his like he didn't exist, like his was just ordinary air.

A feeling of piercing cold ripped through his stomach as the girl walked through him, a dreadful feeling of pain.

Panic swelled in John's chest, a terrible feeling of disbelief and terror.

"What-...How could that-" He stuttered, until a women walked through him from behind; sending another dreadful, cold feeling across his trembling body.

"H-Hello!" John cried, "Can anybody hear me!?"

Nobody replied, they just continued walking past, continued walking _through_ him like he _wasn't there_.

He stepped backwards, edging towards the stone walls of a building as the people moved past him without a sign of noticing him.

He looked up at the moon in desperation as he yelled, "You said I wasn't dead!"

The moon didn't reply, only it's flickering glow showing any sign of its existence to John.

"What happened to me? Why can't anybody see me? _What am I?!_" Tears stun his eyes as he screamed, slowly dripping down his cheeks and chin while a sob escaped from him.

No reply came, and John could only feel more _nonexistent _towards the world.

He moved away from the wall, bursting through the streets in a sprint as he rushed to escape this town, escape this _hell_ he has been trapped in.

More people walked through him, more people sent that _cold, dreadful feeling_ into his body as he ran away from it all. He ran into a forest, never stopping his racing feet even as he entered the darkness of the towering, overwhelming trees.

He stopped after a while, collapsing in exhaustion days since he left the town. He fell on to the grass, moonlight shining on every little strand like a spotlight.

John couldn't help but look up at the still shining moon as choking out a sobbing, "Why?!"

Not a single word came from the moon.

A reply never came for a long, _long_ time.

* * *

**I'm deciding to make this a small story, which will be followed by a series of oneshots and mini arches following John through his immortal life and the adventures he has along the years.**

**So, tell me how you think by a: _Rate and Review!_**

**~QuillOwl**


	3. Guardian angel

**_Bookworm210_: Firstly, thanks for following this story! Your follow made me feel so happy and warm inside, which I needed since I was kinda depressed today (Well, any single person on Valentine's day would.)**

**Also, you're welcome, even though anybody like you is worth being mentioned in a story. ;)**

**...**

**If there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, then PM me or mention it in a review.  
Also, any other mistakes or confusion then also PM me and I'll reply ASAP.**

* * *

100 years.

It has been 100 years, when he last checked, since he was 'born'.

Well, he wouldn't call it _born_. For, being _born_ is meant to be 'new' into this world, just a small child within the cruel world. _Born_ is meant to be from a Mother and Father, wanting to have a child together. _Born_ is meant for a child to grow up and learn within their short life and create memories.

John Smith had no memories, no lessons or growth, a mother or father, nothing. He had nothing, except himself.

He sighed, depression filling his heart as he stood on the towering monument above hundreds of people's heads. He positioned himself on the pointed tip of the monument, his black combat boots balancing on the thin tip as he crouched down and watched the sight before him.

A few people slowly walked towards the monument, their heads low and deep, mournful music was being played at their movements. They advanced towards the steps of the monument, placing down reeds of paper, red poppies and other decorations.

More were placed around the monument, reeds of bright crimson circling around the steps below.

John watched as people bowed their heads when the music stopped, the people stopping during that moment for a minute silence towards the fallen.

He always came to these things, these events for the people who died in World War One.

It took John a while to discover the history of World War One, learning about its causes and the dates until he learnt everything word-by-word.

Because, he had a hunch that was how he died. He was in a battlefield, during the time of World War One which can only point to one conclusion: He died during the war.

What disgusted him was the fact it was World War _One_. For, another one followed after its wake, as vicious and disastrous as the first war. John hid away during that time, away from the cold-hearted, corrupt people; fearing the sound of the thundering bullets and agonizing screams for they brought back such terrible memories.

If he could call them memories. His only memories was his little sister and her bright, gap toothed smile. The other memories were more like _visions_, snippets of evil, dark, horrifying things he had seen before he was 'reborn'.

The people burst into a sound of mutters and whispers, as the minute's silence was over and they all departed.

That made him growl, that the moment the silence was lifted they didn't give the monument or the reeds a second look.

They were ignoring the monument, the sign to show the millions of men that had _died_ for these people and their country. They were disrespecting those men, which meant they were disrespecting _him_.

He leaped off the monument, bursting into the air as the wind thrust him upwards; away from the disrespectful, disgusting people who were near.

He learned how to fly within the first decade of his life, walking through a spring forest when a few nature sprites whispered to each other about how some people could fly the wind and travel the skies.

Those rumors interested John, asking them more about how it was possible. They told him that very few was able to fly the winds, and only _one_ has a controlling bond with the skies.

He asked who that was, wondering if that person could help him, but they just snapped at him saying it was a vicious little winter sprite that destroys their plant life for his own enjoyment.

He didn't know about winter sprites, and he would have asked if they didn't hiss at him beforehand.

They told him that the wind must trust you, believe that you will use its currents and skies for a good cause and not for corruption.

John asked how the hell he could do that, and they just bluntly replied that he had to jump of a cliff.

They said it like it was simple, a simple task that didn't seem at all life threatening or deadly.

He didn't know he was immortal, then. So, the nature sprites just laughed at him as they disappeared into the trees and wildlife.

Luckily, it worked. He decided to climb up a tree and jump from that instead of leaping of a cliff and plunging towards his painful death. He slipped away from the towering tree, falling through the branches until he floated inches above the ground.

He waved his arms about and cried out in victory, until the wind gave way and he fell the rest of the way towards the ground.

However, he learnt that the wind trusted him and tried to practice his skills of flying.

They weren't so bad, he still stumbled and descended from the skies a few times; getting the occasional terrible fall through the skies from time to time and causing major causalities to his head when he attempts to fly across forests.

Besides from all that, he believed he was pretty good at flying.

The wind glided him through the clouds, swiftly flying across the rooftops so down beneath him. He let out a cry of joy as he dived, falling out of the sky like a bullet. John felt the wind rush past his face; the cold, November air brushing against his cheeks and blasting his dark, brown hair backwards as he fell.

He then stopped, thrusting his arms out as the wind blew him upwards and chucked him through the air like a lost feather within the currents of the winter breeze.

John hovered, floating just a few feet from above the rooftops and nearby forest. He felt the wind embrace him, its fast currents circling around John. His open camouflage hoodie and light green shirt flapped around within the wind; his dark brown, worn out jeans clinging to him.

He didn't know why, but John felt like something wasn't _right_. Like the atmosphere around him was cold, and it wasn't because it is winter.

John shrugged it off, brushing away that cold, odd feeling and continued gliding across the snow-covered streets below.

* * *

The sun slowly descended across the sky, until the clouds were tinted red and people retreated into their cozy little homes for the night.

John didn't have a home. Sure, he had several little homely like spots around the world, but not a real and permanent _home_.

He couldn't find anything else to do since the people have hidden in their houses, so he decided to gracefully land on the snow and walk around the streets instead of flying through the night sky.

Streetlamps flickered on as John walked across the sidewalk, moving past houses and front gardens as he traveled across the streets by himself. The town was quiet, almost peaceful, except from the sounds of the wind blowing through the empty roads. A wail, a terrible cry, broke the silence for John, and he could only turn his head towards a small park where the sound came from.

He blasted into the air for moment, the wind making him get to the woodland playground quicker than an ordinary person would.

John looked around, hiding behind trees and peaking around them for sights of a person.

Even though he was invisible, doesn't mean he shouldn't be cautious.

He searched around until he saw the sight of a little boy, curled up and shaking on the dirty ground. His clothes seemed tattered, and blood was coming out of his arm as he released a sob.

John sighed, feeling pity for the small child.

The child didn't moved as John slowly stepped from the trees and towards him, staring down at the boy's blonde hair and bruised face.

That proved it, the child had been abused by somebody- probably a group of older kids, because that is usually the case for when John spots hurt children by themselves.

Another sob broke through the child's body, tear leaking from his blue eyes.

John released another sigh as he picked up a nearby stick, crouching down as he drew a picture beside the boy.

It took the boy a few moments to notice the sound of the stick brushing against the snow, uncurling from his little frame to stare at the newly drawn picture.

It was a picture of the little boy, alone, and a family with a house further away from him. John draw an arrow that lead from the boy towards the family; drawing the kids another time but looking happy.

The boy gaped at the picture as it was magically drawn by himself, for John knew the kid couldn't see him.

To get his message across, John wrote underneath the picture: _'Do you want me to take you to your family?'_

A sob came from the child before he replied a stuttering, "Y-Yes."

John drew another message, _'Then follow the trail.'_

He picked up a larger stick, big enough so he can hold it behind him and draw a line through the ground as he walked. The kid looked at the line across the snow, his blue eyes staring in shock before treading after the trail.

John continued holding the branch behind him, creating a child that went through several streets and past many houses until he stopped by a small house that was lit with several, warm glowing lights.

The boy laughed before sprinting up the patio stairs towards his home. He turned back, looking towards the trail where John wrote a message: _'You're welcome. Now go to your family, they must be missing you.'_

The kid nodded, before looking above the trail and for a moment, _a small, amazing moment_, locking his blues eyes at John's deep brown. John gasped, staggering backwards and staring at the boy even as he turned away a second later and burst into his home to be welcomed by a number of hugs and delighted squeals.

John flew until the air, the wind flinging him through the night sky as he still remained shocked and confused.

_Did that kid just see him?_

For the first time in 100 years, in his whole lifetime, did somebody _look at him and notice he was actually there_?

'I must keep an eye out for that kid.' John thought as he glided through the skies, thinking about those blue eyes that_ looked at him_.

He was going to protect that kid, no matter what.

Sure, he protected a lot of kids. During his life after 'rebirth' he guided lost and orphaned children towards a better life, towards warm families and caring love. He enjoyed the widened eyes the children got when they saw their parents again, or visited the home of their adopting parents for the first time.

He liked the feeling he got when that happened, a feeling of warmth and happiness that overwhelmed that cold, dreadful feeling he got when people never noticed him.

John heard some kids, through their bedroom windows and living rooms, talk to their parents about how they came home or how their life become right. They spoke of a 'Guardian angel' that guided them through it all.

He snorted when he heard it. _Guardian angel?_ That didn't sound like him, he just liked guiding children to the family they deserved.

John doesn't have a family, so he could at least help those children to find their own.

He knows every child's family, the information just comes to him like it was a lost memory. He know how many siblings the child has, how many cousins and half-siblings and step-siblings, the number of aunts and uncles, grandfathers and grandmothers, what happened to their parents if they were gone.

John knew everything about every child's family. Which is ironic, because he knows _nothing_ of his own family except that he had a younger sister.

He also knew where the child's family lived, or where the best place for an orphan should go, or where the best person should be for a child that was hurt and lost.

So, he used this information to his advantage and through the decades helped children be guided towards their loved ones.

John even calls it his job, at times. Like it was_ his_ _purpose_, _his mission_, to protect and guide children towards their families and homes, or protect them from any danger that comes towards them.

_Guardian angel?_ Yeah, maybe that could be him, one day.

* * *

**I love writing this story, already. I just enjoy writing about John and it just seems so fun! It's like a little break from my other stories.**

**Also, do you guys like John? Fashion and physical wise, for his appearance took great thought into making. Kinda imagine him like Jack Frost was when he was human, dark brown hair and eyes. **

**I'm gonna start taking request for one-shots and mini arches after this little story is finished, and I wouldn't mind getting a couple of suggestions if you guys have any.**

**So, any suggestions or anything then mention it in a _Rate and Review_!**


	4. Darkness and defeat

**OMFG! *Groans* Sorry about the lack of updates, guys. My bad!  
I was writing 3 other stories (Well, one is actually editing, but it still counts) and it just got so overwhelming and just- GAH!**

**Also, My computer keeps deleting my work or turning itself off whenever I nearly finish writing this chapter. And, it's happened so many times that I just had to walk away from this story for a few days unless I went on a rage and destroyed my laptop**

**...**

**Bookworm210: Yes, that does mean short. But, I did mention that a series of One-Shots and mini arches would follow after this story. And, maybe, I might turn this into a full story after I've finished all my other stories.  
**

**I'm glad you love it all! Especially John, I felt really paranoid about how people would like him or he might be terrible or something.**

**The Blue Phantom: Why mention I'm awesome when we already know that, Blue?!  
Lets just say, I have a whole vault full of them. Big enough to contain a certain Winter Spirit *Evil chuckles***

**yujuh7: Yep, I'm continuing this story since people liked it so much. I'm glad you've following this story, and loving it. Thank you for the review, it made me feel much more encouraged to write this chapter****.**

* * *

John sighed as he glided through the night sky, flying past the shadowed clouds and winking stars as the darkness become more surrounding and incredibly dull. Stopping within the blackened clouds as he hovered there in thought.

_'Maybe you should find another place to have fun.' _John suggested to himself, even though is heart ached as he thought about leaving Britain.

His heart _always_ aches when he leaves the small empire of Great Britain, departing from its bleak streets yet joyful communities. Whenever he leaves, he feels like he was leaving some sort of _home_. That ache he feels when he leaves is what always brings him back, back towards the small empire, back towards the only place he can feel some sort of true _home_ at.

Maybe he lived here once? Grew up here before he was sent off to battle and be 'reborn'.

John might never get that answer, or _any_ answer to the thousands of questions he had to ask.

He made his decision with a sigh, twisting through the air as his hair ruffled in the Winter breeze, "Hey, Wind!" John cried, "You know where to go!".

And the wind did know, for it blast John skywards and straight ahead with incredible, fierce speed.

John traveled through the clouds above the spanning oceans, the seas sparkling in the moonlight and the rising sunlight as the sun began to travel through the sky. The glistening seas turned into the sandy shores of beaches; then the towering buildings towns and cities of civilization.

A small town, combined of grand, ancient buildings and simply designed, new ones, made him finally stop and land on to a telephone wire with graceful ease.

He walked across the wire, looking down at the town and its streets blanketed with snow and frost.

_'Damn, it's snowing everywhere, isn't it?' _The sight caused John to think with a raised eyebrow, but he shrugged it off as he continued travelling around the town by the rooftops and power lines.

He didn't want to answer those questions right now. For, the small town of Burgess needed their old resident back.

* * *

John whipped his head up, releasing a carefree laugh as the wind tossed him through the low streets of Burgess.

The wind laughed, too. It's bitter cold embrace twirling around John, spreading its swift breeze in its wake. Papers were blown, scarfs were lost and people were shocked by the change of the Winter Breeze.

The young teen whooped as he glided across the corner, the wind thrusting him into flips and spins as they turned. He loved the wind, it was like his companion and his loyal ally. He wouldn't call it a friend, though, for he understood that the wind had a much closer, loving bond with somebody that wasn't him; John respected that the wind had allies and friends, for John believed they were all the same because they all rode the skies.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, excitement coursing through his bloods that he felt like he could fly for decades without rest, like he was energized for anything.

A sudden blast from the wind made John thrust to the left, stumbling in the air and nearly collapsing as he crashed into a brick wall. John shook his head, trying to break his shocked and confused daze. He regained balance within the wind and recovered just as he saw a little boy, with messy brown hair and wide brown eyes, skid straight past him on a spontaneous trail of ice that has appeared across the road. His sled rushed past pedestrians and cars, receiving gasps and irritated cries. And, wait...was that a person _flying_ beside the kid?!

_Was that another spirit?! _

John nearly yelled out after the pair, attempting to follow after the little boy and- believed to be -spirit but they were already lost in the maze of buildings and pathways.

He cursed, yelling out in frustration as he descend towards the ground.

John missed it, the opportunity to meet another spirit, a chance to meet somebody_ just like him_. He had it, then lost it as soon as it came.

Through his whole immortal life, John has never met another spirit. Except, for the conversations with the nature and water spirits, and the occasionally encounter with the Easter Bunny (Which never lasted long or ended well, in John's opinion). He even met Santa once, but the jolly immortal didn't notice John trailing behind his sleigh in wonder and excitement.

Nobody notices him, not even the immortals.

It was like he was the odd one out, the shunned and exiled one of the whole immortal world. Barely any person- spirit, sprite, or any immortal in between -took the time to greet him, have a small conversation, prove to him that he _exists_ to them. They took no effort, and that just made John worthless.

Which, in John's opinion, _he was!_

He had no special powers, no abilities over anything except the wind- and that wasn't even him, it was the wind itself! No control over weather or nature, or a unique way to be useful in this world- Spirit or likewise.

He hasn't even got a center.

The nature spirits told him about 'centers', the things that make the person who they are or what gives them the purpose to remain on this earth. All the nature spirits were, of course, nature and wildlife; the water spirits were the same, except for they care more about the aquatic wildlife.

The 'Centers' of spirits is what creates them, bonds them to the spirit world, _makes them who they are_.

So why, just _why_, was he the only spirit that didn't have a center, have his own purpose?

Maybe his lack of a purpose, a center, is what makes the spirit world shun him and disown him. Never talks to him and makes him feel eternally alone. Forever leave him in the dark, with no hope of an answer for his questions or some help for his troubles.

John sighed, bowing his head as he stared at the frozen ground beneath his combat boots.

He no longer wanted to be in Burgess. He just wanted to be alone, which wasn't exactly _hard_ for him- but the point still remains.

Before he could mutter a command, the wind already whisked him into the air and through the afternoon sky as the fast currents and clouds whipped past him.

John wanted to laugh, smile at the wind for its gratefulness, but he just...couldn't. It's like he lost the ability to smile, the way to laugh and chuckle, forgot how to be happy.

Well, he forgot how to be happy and joyful a long time ago. In fact, he _never_ remembered how, like always.

His eyes glanced across the forest, it beautiful towering trees that glistened with snow and frost in the late afternoon sky. The wind noticed, and gracefully set him down upon the forest ground of withering leaves and snow that crunched under his feet.

Raising his hood, John stuffed his hands into the warm pockets of his jacket as sharp, small snowflakes fell from the dark, forming clouds and piercing his hidden face with bitterness.

"Well, guess some Winter Sprite is pissed." John grumbled as he trudge through the increasing snow, burying his hands further into his hoodie until he felt the cold metal of a familiar golden locket against his palm. He clutched the necklace within his palm, remembering the bright, joyful face of his little sister.

_His little sister_, That is all he could call her. He has no hint or memory of her name, her age, or any event involving her. The only he knew was that he had a little sister, and what she looked like because of the locket.

His sister was the only memory, only _good_ memory, he had so he'd tried to desperately to find her and learn more, _remember_ more about her and himself.

But, his planned failed. He never found her, and he probably never will.

It has been 100 years. So, no matter how young she was when he left, she'll be over 100 years old and probably would have forgotten John anyway.

John sighed, gripping on to the locket more tightly as looked at the bleak, Winter sky.

Even though the large, grey snowcloud that overwhelmed the evening sky blocked out almost any light, the moon shone through the snow like a bright, silver beacon; bathing John's covered face in gentle light.

John coldly chuckled, "You're up early, aren't you?" He called to the moon, glaring intensely at its cratered surface.

No response came, only silence.

"You know..." John continued, trying to ignore the hurt he felt within the terrible silence, "You've got to talk to me sooner or later. So...wouldn't it be better if you...talk to me..._now_?" His tone was hopeful, pleading as if the moon would finally listen to him.

It didn't. Only the subtle breeze of the wind and the creaking branches of the forest were heard through the such dreadful quiet.

"Look, I know you're listening to me and watching me from up there so you can at least _talk_ to me." John's tone become more stern, more frustrated and angered, "You don't even have to talk! Just answer some questions. I only need a 'yes' or a 'no' but you won't even give me that! What have I done wrong to not just get some answers to questions I deserve to know after all these decades!?" John was beginning to shout now, his voice echoing through the darkening forest.

Silence._ Always silence._

"Please!_ Just talk to me!_" John screamed, the wind responding and beginning to howl, "I don't ask for much, just...why?!" John continued the yell at the moon, "Why, why, why, why, _why?!_"

Unshed tear stung John's eyes, making him stubbornly attempt to wipe them away but to no avail for they remained.

"I don't know if I'm being selfish, or you regret creating me, or I'm not good enough but...I just...want to know..._why_." His voice broke at the last part, a sob breaking through him as the tears were finally shed, rolling down his cheeks.

John never cries. Sure, he cried during the first hours of his life and has been on the verge of tears many times before but he has never _truly _cried. He has bottled all his emotions up, and he never really noticed what he felt until now, sobbing uncontrollably.

He was alone, unloved, unwanted. He was angry, frustrated, desperate, _scared_.

John never had fear grip him so tightly, overwhelm him so easily.

He was afraid of loneliness, afraid of solitude, afraid of being cast out and neglected; being walked through and unseen by every being on the planet. But the thing he was most afraid of, was _never_ knowing _why_.

Sobs became sniffs, sniffs became whimpers, and then whimpers faded away to become the dreadful silence that John always despised.

The moon remained quiet through it all, and John didn't have the effort to ask and plead another time. He laid on the ground, curling in on himself as sniffs and whimpers began to return and tears threatened to leak from his eyes again.

Darkness embraced John as he remained on the ground for...hours? He didn't want to know, the gracefully falling snow collecting round his shoulders and knees.

_'Okay, you've had your moment. Now get up.'_ His mind snapped, reawakening him from his lost thoughts and making him sluggishly move his sore, freezing limbs from the ground. Raising to his feet, John looked at the dark landscape around him and shivered, but not because of the temperature.

Something wasn't right about this place.

Before John could figure out what, a loud, piercing wail of a creature echoed through the atmosphere, a series of vicious galloping sounding after its wake.

A blur of shadows stood out from the trees and snow, John looking at it with shock and horror. It was a horse, but not an ordinary pet used for riding. Created by shadows and darkness, with eyes of bright amber spreading eeriness with its glare. Its body shifted as small grains of its body fell away and created a trail.

Within that second of seeing it, it was gone. Lost within the trees.

"Oh no you don't." John muttered as he summoned the wind, a quick blast sending him into the height and safety of the trees which he traveled through. Branch by branch, he jumped across the forest after the creature of darkness.

The trees began to spread out, revealing an open plain that the horse raced through. John went to follow further, but stopped within the thick branches of an oak as he stared at the sight.

Darkness spread through the plain like an unnatural plague, not a single glimmer of visible moonlight shining upon the soil. Shadows spilled out of a gaping hole within the center of the plain, its depth unknown and frightening, as a broken, wooden bed frame rested above it, almost ready to fall apart and make someone plummet into the darkness.

Shivers went up John's spine at the sight, a feeling of paranoia and fear overwhelming his confused mind. He watch, brown eyes glaring at the bed frame, as the horse dived into the shadows.

Silence, it remained like that for several minutes before a choir of horrifying wails came from the hole, a series of angered stomping from furious horses, to many to be possible to fit within such a tiny hole.

Then, a terrible chuckle, increasing in volume and insanity until it became a wicked laugh. John felt himself trimmer in fear and horror, to frozen to move yet to scared to stay. His mind screamed at him to fly away from the place, away from the danger, but remained still as shadows burst from the hole and a figure crafted by fear and nightmares began to rise...

* * *

** Dun. Dun. DUNNNN! Cliffhanger! XD**

**Anyway, sorry for the long wait, my lovelies. Got distracted by other stories, editing old stories, Tumblr, and a vicious plot bunny that won't leave me alone! **

**Also, Happy Easter! Take this new chapter as a gift from me. I hope you're all enjoying this day of hope and new beginnings as much as I am! (I got 5 easter eggs and a whole box of Lucky Charms to munch on. Nom Nom Nom)**

**Remember to _Rate and Review!_ :D**


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